Lost Lady

  Chapter 13

  NO MATTER WHAT REGAN’S FIRST IMPRESSION WAS OF HOW difficult it was to run a plantation, she was far from the reality of it. Travis left their bed before the sun rose, and within minutes there were women in her room asking her questions. When she had no idea what answers to give them, she could see the way their eyes slid to one side. Once she overheard a maid mutter something about how a man like Travis could marry a nothing like her.

  And everywhere she heard the name Margo.

  A weaver showed her patterns Margo had given her. A gardener set bulbs from Miss Margo. In the blue room she found dresses that she was told belonged to Miss Margo, because she stayed here so often.

  In the evenings at dinner, she asked Travis about this woman, but Travis only shrugged and said she was a neighbor. After having been away from his plantation so long, he was buried in work. Even during meals he went over papers with his two clerks, computing figures of goods received and goods exported. Regan didn’t have the heart to add to his burdens by telling him her problems.

  And then one day Regan’s world came to a screeching halt. Travis had just returned to a quick dinner, talking to her with his mouth full about the arrival of a new ship from England, when the clatter of a horse’s hoofs on the brick drive outside made him start. The crack of a whip was followed by the shrill scream of a horse, and Travis was at the window instantly.

  “Margo!” he bellowed down. “You strike that horse again, and I’ll use that whip on you.”

  A deep, seductive laugh seemed to fill the dining room. “Better men than you have tried, Travis, my love,” a woman’s voice purred, followed by another crack and another scream from a horse.

  The entire house shook as Travis tore downstairs.

  Regan, her eyes wide, put her napkin on the table and went to the window. Below her was a ravishingly beautiful red-haired woman wearing a tight emerald-green habit over an awesome figure. Her large, jutting breasts, small waist, and round hips made Regan glance down at her own slight curves.

  But in seconds her attention was again on the woman atop her black stallion as it pranced angrily in the courtyard. The woman seemed to be easily in control of the monster of an animal, her eyes on the front of the house, and when Travis appeared she gave that low laugh again and raised her whip.

  Within seconds Travis made a leap, grabbing at the whip in the woman’s upraised hand. He caught it, but she dug her heels into the horse, sending it rearing, and Travis, clutching the pommel, held on. She never seemed to lose balance or confidence as the horse’s front hoofs flailed at the air, and when the animal came down she started to give it another kick.

  But Travis was too fast for her. He grabbed her arm with one hand and the reins with the other. For a moment there was a tug of war, the woman’s laugh filling the air, sounding like moonlight during the day. She was a large, strong woman, and with the added strength of the horse beneath her she gave Travis an excellent fight.

  When at last he pulled her from the horse, she slid down him liquidly, running her breasts across his face and down his chest, and when she was in range she opened her mouth and pressed it to his in a kiss that even from Regan’s position, high above, looked as if it might devour him.

  She wouldn’t have guessed she could fly downstairs as quickly as she did, and when she reached the front stairs the kiss was only just ending.

  “Still planning to use a whip on me?” Margo said huskily but loudly enough for Regan to hear. “Or could I persuade you to use something a little smaller—a very little bit smaller, if I remember correctly,” she added, rubbing her hips meaningfully against his.

  Travis took her arms and set her away from him. “Margo, before you make a complete fool of yourself, I think you should meet someone.” He turned around, seemingly aware of Regan’s exact whereabouts. “This is my wife.”

  Many expressions went across Margo’s classically beautiful face. The arched eyebrows drew together, and the green-gold eyes caught fire. Patrician nostrils flared, and the sensual lips curled. She seemed to start to say something, but no words came out. With one look at Travis she gave him a slap that echoed against the towering house. In another second she was on her horse, jerking savagely at its mouth and already whipping it viciously as she headed east.

  Travis watched her for a moment, muttered something about “No right to treat animals that way,” flexed his injured jaw, and turned back to his wife. “That was Margo Jenkins, our closest neighbor.” With that calm statement he seemed to dismiss the whole episode.

  Regan, stock-still, her body rigid, could see the vivid print of Margo’s hand on his cheek as he bent to kiss her.

  “I’ll see you tonight, and why don’t you take a nap? You look a little pale. We want a healthy baby, remember?” With that, he nodded for his clerk, standing behind Regan, to follow him, and he went toward the west wing of the house where his office was located.

  It took Regan what seemed like an hour before she recovered enough to return to the house. The vision of the haughty, splendidly lovely Margo haunted her all day. Twice she paused before a mirror and looked at her own reflection, at her wide-set eyes, her slim figure, and her overall look of sweetness. There was nothing sweet-looking about Margo Jenkins. Sucking in her cheeks, Regan tried to imagine herself more sophisticated, a superior beauty, but with a giant sigh she gave it up.

  For the next few days she began to listen when Margo’s name was mentioned and found out that it had been understood for years that Travis would marry her. When Travis and Wesley were both away, Margo managed their enormous plantation as well as her own.

  With every word she heard, Regan became a little less sure of herself. Had she broken up this love match when she ran into Travis on the London docks? Why had Travis married her, except because she was going to have a baby? When she tried to ask Travis these questions he just laughed. He was too busy with spring planting to be able to spend much time talking, and when they were alone together his hands on her body made her forget everything else.

  A week after Margo’s visit, Regan was in the East Passage, dreading her journey to the kitchen. It was time to look at the menus for next week—and time to face Malvina, the cook. The old woman had taken an instant dislike to Regan, muttering under her breath constantly. One of the maids mentioned that Malvina was a cousin to the Jenkins family, and of course she had expected, as everyone had, that Travis would marry Margo. Gathering her courage, Regan went through the long passage to the kitchen.

  “I ain’t got time to do nothin’ else now,” Malvina said before Regan could speak. “A shipload of men just come in, and I have to feed ’em.”

  Regan refused to back down. “That’s perfectly all right, I’ll just have a cup of tea, and we can discuss menus some other time.”

  “Ain’t nobody got time to make tea,” the cook snapped, giving warning looks to her three young helpers.

  Straightening her shoulders, Regan walked toward the smelly, smoke-emitting cast-iron stove set along one wall. “I can certainly make my own tea,” she said in what she hoped was a scathing voice, and did not reveal that she had no idea how to make a cup of tea. Turning just slightly to give the cook a lofty look, a deprecating smile on her lips, Regan picked up the tea kettle.

  The smile left instantly as she gave a little scream, dropped the scalding-hot kettle, and then had to jump backward as boiling water splashed to the floor. Behind her, the cook’s malicious chuckle rang out, and all Regan could do was stare helplessly at her burned palm.

  “Here,” said one of the kitchen maids with kindness as she pressed cool butter into Regan’s injured hand. “Leave this on it, and go sit down. I’ll bring you your tea.” This last she said with a whisper, one eye glancing toward the cook.

  Silently, her head down, Regan left the kitchen, with her fingers extended and the butter melting against the throbbing surface. She wanted to go straight to her bedroom, but a young man informed her that a guest waited for her in the parlor. Reg
an was just wondering how she could escape when Margo appeared at the head of the stairs, looking radiant in a blue satin dress.

  “Whatever have you done to yourself, child?” she asked, sweeping down the stairs. “Charles, bring bandages to the parlor, and have Malvina send us tea. With sherry! And tell her I want some of her fruitcake.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said the young man, who hurried away.

  Margo took Regan’s wrist and led her up the stairs. “What were you doing to burn your hand so badly?” she said sympathetically.

  With her pride hurt as well as her hand, Regan was glad for the sympathy. “I picked up the tea kettle,” she said meekly, embarrassed.

  Margo didn’t blink an eye as she led Regan to a couch. Within seconds a maid Regan was sure she’d never seen before appeared with bandages and clean cloths. “And where have you been, Sally?” Margo asked sternly. “Have you been up to your old tricks and getting out of work?”

  “Oh no, ma’am. I help the mistress every morning, don’t I, ma’am?” she asked, boldly looking at Regan.

  Regan didn’t say a word. She’d met so many people in the last few weeks.

  Margo grabbed the bandages. “Get out of here, you little slut! And be careful I don’t have Travis turn your indenture papers over to me.”

  After one wild look of fear, the maid left the room.

  Margo sat down beside Regan on the couch. “Now let me see your hand. This is really a bad burn. You must have held that kettle quite some time. I do hope you tell Travis about the house servants. He lets them do as they please, and as a result they think they own the place. And Wes is certainly no better. That’s why Travis has been planning for so long to get a wife. He needs someone strong who can take care of the duties of a plantation this size.”

  All the time she was talking, she was tenderly bandaging Regan’s hand. When she was finished, the man, Charles, entered the room bearing a tray large enough to hold a pony. On it was an exquisite Georgian silver tea service, a crystal decanter of sherry with two glasses, and an astonishing array of tiny cakes and sandwiches.

  “Not Malvina’s best,” Margo said, looking down her nose at the tray. “Perhaps she doesn’t consider me a guest any longer. Tell her,” she said, glancing at Charles, “that I’ll speak to her before I leave.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Charles bobbed before he left the room.

  “Now,” Margo said, smiling at Regan. “I shall, of course, pour since you have that dreadful hand.”

  With the greatest of ease, Margo poured tea, added a good dose of sherry, and chose a cake for Regan.

  “I really came to apologize,” Margo began as she poured herself sherry, forgetting the tea. “I can’t imagine what you must have thought of my unforgivable rudeness last week. I was really too embarrassed to return and ask you to receive me after what happened.”

  Regan was pleased at this regal woman’s humility. “I…you should have come,” she said quietly.

  Margo looked away and continued, “You see, Travis and I have been sweethearts since we were children, and everyone assumed we would someday marry. So, of course, it was a shock when he introduced someone else as his wife.” She looked back at Regan, her eyes soft and pleading. “You do understand, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” Regan whispered. How alike Margo and Travis were, so sure of themselves, so confident. They were the rulers of the world.

  “My father died two years ago,” Margo said, and there was such pain in her voice that Regan winced. “And since then I’ve run my plantation alone. Of course, it is nowhere near the size of Travis’s place, but it is adequate.”

  Regan felt that here was a woman who could run an entire plantation alone, while she couldn’t even prepare a cup of tea. At least there was one thing she could do correctly. Lowering her head and smiling, she said, “Travis hopes our children will help him work the plantation. Of course, that will take time, but this one has a good start already.”

  When Margo was silent, Regan looked up and saw fire in the larger woman’s eyes.

  “So that’s why Travis married you!” she said in a voice that came from deep inside her.

  A wave of shock ran through Regan.

  “Forgive me again!” Margo said, putting her hand on Regan’s wrist. “I never seem to say the right thing. It’s just that I had wondered why, since we were practically engaged. Travis is so honorable that, of course, he’d feel he had to marry a woman who was carrying his child. You know,” she laughed, “I should have thought of that. Perhaps if I’d, well, you know, and gotten myself pregnant, he would have married me.

  “Oh my!” Margo said. “I seem to be doing it again. I wasn’t by any means insinuating that you were enceinte before Travis married you. Of course you weren’t.”

  She rose, and Regan stood beside her. “I really must go,” Margo said. “I can’t seem to say anything right today.” She patted Regan’s hand. “I’m sure Travis fell in love with you, and that’s why he chose you. This isn’t the Middle Ages. Men marry women of their own choosing and not because they’re going to have babies. Of course, Travis always said he’d like to have children but without a bossy wife to put up with. Of course, you, dear sweet child, could never be bossy. Now I really must go. I hope we will become the closest of friends. Perhaps I can help you with learning about Travis’s likes and dislikes. After all, we’ve been very close all our lives.”

  She kissed the air beside Regan’s cheek before turning to leave. “I’ll leave word for the tray to be removed,” she smiled. “So you don’t have to worry your sweet little head about it. You just go and rest and take care of that baby Travis wants so much.”

  With that she left the room, and Regan collapsed onto the couch, feeling as if she’d just left a storm. It was a few minutes before she began to think about Margo’s words. Choice? Travis did not choose her; she ran into him. He would gladly have released her, but she wouldn’t tell him her uncle’s name. Honor! Travis’s honor forbade him releasing her into the streets of London, and later his honor made him marry her. What had he said at their wedding? He always married the mother of his children.

  Had she forced him to marry her? Obviously their marriage had nothing to do with love. How could a man like Travis love a child who couldn’t even make tea without practically crippling herself?

  The days began to pass, and with each one she seemed to fall farther behind in work. The household staff seemed to take delight in changing daily. When Regan spoke to them they were insolent, and at last she found herself rarely leaving her room.

  Travis came home, swept her into his arms, tossed her above his head, and tickled her until the sadness left her face. Constantly, he asked her what was wrong. He invited her to tour the plantation with him, and she went, ashamed at how much she wanted his protection. She could never admit how much of a stranger she felt in this country.

  Travis never complained about her lack of authority, and no one dared be insolent with him, but he did notice that certain areas of the plantation were not being supervised properly. One day she heard him shouting at the dairymen, asking why they were slack in their job.

  Twice Margo visited, and each time she talked softly to Regan before setting into the house staff for their negligence of the gracious house. After she left Regan felt drained and worse than useless.

  She never let Travis know of her problems with the staff or of her hundreds of thousands of tears during the day.

  One afternoon, while Regan was in the library trying to concentrate on a book, Travis entered.

  “There you are,” he smiled. “I thought you’d disappeared.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  Over his clothes he wore an oiled cloth, like the sailors on board ship had worn.

  “A storm is brewing, lightning cut one of the fences down, and about a hundred horses are out.”

  “Are you going after them?”

  “Just as soon as I can get Margo, I am.”

  “Margo?” She c
losed the book. “What does she have to do with horses getting out?”

  Travis laughed at her expression. “Some of them belong to her, and, besides, she can outride most of the men in the county. The plain fact, my green-eyed little wife, is that I need her.”

  Standing, she looked up at him. “But what can I do?”

  He smiled indulgently and kissed her nose. “Not worry your pretty little head for one thing, keep my baby safe for the second, and, last but definitely not least, warm my bed.” With that, he left the room.

  For a moment Regan stood where she was. Her first impulse was to cry, but she was sick to death of crying! She was not going to sit alone and keep Travis’s baby safe. Surely there must be more to life than just living for the few moments alone with a man who only cared about what she carried in her stomach.

  When he really wanted something, he went to the woman he’d always gone to—Margo—Margo with her pride and arrogance, Margo with her confident ability to do anything in the world.

  Without another thought, she went to their bedroom and began throwing clothes into a cloth case. The idea of doing something—anything—made her hurry. In a case on the chest of drawers was a bracelet of sapphires and a pair of diamond earrings. They’d belonged to Travis’s mother, and he’d given them to her. With only a moment’s hesitation, she slipped them into the bag.

  Putting on a heavy cloak, she went to the door, made sure no one saw her, and started toward the stairs. At the head, she paused and looked back at what had once been hers. No! It never had been hers. With a fresh burst of resolution, she ran back to the library and scribbled a note to Travis, telling him that she was leaving and he was free to have the woman he loved. Then, opening a drawer, she emptied the contents of a tin box of cash into her pocket.

  It was easy to escape the house without notice. The workers were busy securing windows and doors in preparation for the storm that hung in the air like damp wool. The house faced the river, but behind it ran a rutted path that Travis said was a road. Most Virginians traveled by water, and Regan felt sure she would escape detection if she took this route.